


A Dream From The Past (Put Me On My Knees)

by squadrickchestopher



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Hair, Butt Plugs, Cockwarming, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Clint Barton, ace bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Clint clears his throat, then forgets what words are as he looks at Bucky again. Christ, he hasn’t felt like this since the first days they saw each other, when Bucky was a little murderous and Clint was a little in love with the way he glared at everyone and everything.Not that he’s not in love now, but the point is—“You look really hot,” he finally manages. “Like...I just...” He gestures vaguely, not sure how to phraseI’d like you to put me on my knees right the fuck nowwithout sounding demanding
Relationships: Clint Barton/Marc Spector, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Marc Spector, James "Bucky" Barnes/Marc Spector
Comments: 5
Kudos: 94
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	A Dream From The Past (Put Me On My Knees)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).



> Filling my "Clint's crush on wartime Bucky" square for WHB. 
> 
> For arson, who wanted more cockwarming fics. *gives humble offering*

So the thing is—

The thing _is_ —

Clint’s had a crush on Bucky Barnes for as long as he can possibly remember. He vaguely recalls being a kid, and looking through all those old comics and things, thinking _Bucky is way better than Captain America_. He’s always been a sucker for the whole tall, dark, and handsome schtick, and even now, even though he knows the _tall_ part is kind of a joke in this case, he’s still one-million percent into the guy.

So when Bucky comes home with his hair cut short, like his military days, Clint is not _entirely_ responsible for the noise he makes, or the way he scrambles up and off Marc’s chest, elbowing him in the process.

“Down boy,” Bucky says, smirking a little as he closes the door behind him. “You alright, Marc?”

“I’m fine,” Marc says, getting up. “I’ve taken a lot worse than that. What’d you do to your hair?”

“I cut it. It was getting long and I’m tired of buying conditioner.”

Marc snorts. “You’re still gonna have to buy conditioner.”

“Yeah, but now I gotta buy less of it.” He looks up at Clint. “You okay, darlin’? Did I break you?”

Clint clears his throat, then forgets what words are as he looks at Bucky again. Christ, he hasn’t felt like this since the first days they saw each other, when Bucky was a little murderous and Clint was a little in love with the way he glared at everyone and everything.

Not that he’s not in love now, but the point is—

“You look really hot,” he finally manages. “Like...I just...” He gestures vaguely, not sure how to phrase _I’d like you to put me on my knees right the fuck now_ without sounding demanding.

“I do, huh?”

“No, but like—”

“Oh, come on,” Marc interrupts, getting up. “You know he’s got a thing for the military look.”

“He does have a type,” Bucky agrees, leaning forward to press a kiss to Clint’s cheek. “It’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Clint says, face flushing red.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Bucky tells him, and goes to hang up his coat. “I like it. I figured you’d be into this.”

“What, you got it cut for me?”

“No, I got it cut for me. Your reaction’s just a bonus.”

Clint sticks his tongue out at him and turns to Marc. “He’s being a jerk.”

Marc grins and tugs Clint into his arms. “You do look good,” he says.

Bucky grins. “Glad to hear it.” He comes back to Clint, hand moving to cup his jaw. “You okay there, sweetheart? Or you still need a moment?”

“Fuck you, I was just surprised.” Clint holds still, though, eyes fixed on Bucky. Yeah, he _definitely_ wants Bucky to put him on his knees.

“Mmhmm.” Bucky studies his face. “I know that look, sweetheart. You want something?”

“Maybe,” Clint says, leaning back into Marc.

“You should tell us.” Marc slides his hand up, fingers just teasing around Clint’s throat. “Can’t get what you want unless you ask for it.”

Ah, hell. They’re gonna be the death of him. Clint can already see the flush of excitement in Bucky’s eyes, and feel Marc’s erection pressing against his ass. Clint himself is already sinking fast—with these two, it doesn’t take much to drop him anyway, and this is _more_ than enough.

“Tell us,” Bucky says, and his voice gets a little lower, the words turning into a command, and Clint feels himself melt a little.

“That,” he says. “I want—I want that.”

“Want what?”

“Tell me what to do,” Clint says. “Please.”

“There you go.” Bucky cups his cheek and flicks his gaze to Marc. “You good with that?”

“Definitely,” Marc says.

“Good.” Bucky looks between the two of them, then pats Clint’s cheek. “Okay. Go get me and Marc something to drink, sweetheart.”

Clint nearly says _what about me_ , but there’s a look in Bucky’s eyes that tells him he’s probably going to be doing something else with his mouth. “Okay,” he says, and he reluctantly extracts himself from Marc’s arms, going over to the kitchen and grabbing two glasses. He takes his time about it, drinking in the sight of Bucky doing things like kicking off his shoes, and kissing Marc on the cheek, and sprawling on the couch. It’s obscenely hot. They’re both obscenely hot. It’s unfair. It’s also slightly alarming—they’re so far out of his league that it’s almost laughable they’d want him—

“Clint,” Marc says, and Clint blinks, then finishes pouring the drinks, carrying them both back over.

“Thank you,” he says softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Marc’s mouth.

Marc hums quietly and takes the drink from him, reaching up to brush his hair back. “We like you just fine,” he says softly. “Quit thinking about it.”

“Okay,” Clint whispers, and offers him a little smile. 

He takes Bucky’s drink over and stands in front of him, waiting quietly. Bucky sips it—taking a long moment to look him over—then gestures with the glass. “Take your shirt off.”

Clint’s tugging it off almost comically fast, the fabric getting caught on his head before he tosses it to the side. Marc clears his throat, and he sheepishly goes to get it, folding and placing it on the side table. “Sorry.”

“Thank you,” Marc says, an amused look on his face.

“He’s a good boy,” Bucky says. “Take the rest of it off.”

Clint strips off the rest of his clothes, flushing a little at the way they look at him. He’s not embarrassed, but the way they look at him always makes him hot all over. There’s open _wanting_ in Marc’s eyes, and an appreciative look on Bucky’s face, and it just does things to him.

“Very pretty,” Bucky finally says, getting to his feet. He walks around Clint, drink still in hand, then reaches up and winds his metal fingers into Clint’s hair, other hand gesturing to the floor. “You’d look better down there, though.”

“Is that an order?” Clint asks, a slight grin stealing over his face.

Bucky grins right back. “Yeah, it is,” he says, and leans forward a little, fingers tightening, voice lowering. “Get on your knees.”

The words are steely, heavy and commanding, and Clint drops like a fucking stone. He nearly takes Bucky down with him, but the other man manages to stay upright, easily checking his balance. “That was fast,” he says, pulling Clint’s head back a little.

“Can’t really blame him,” Marc says, and Clint glances over to see him watching intently, brown eyes fixed on the two of them. “You got a way with words, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky says. He’s smirking a little, the bastard, and Clint can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed because it’s fucking hot. “Put your arms behind your back, sweetheart.”

Clint moves his arms, arousal burning through him. He clasps his wrists behind his back and looks up, waiting for his next command.

“That’s a look,” Marc says, voice rough, and Bucky nods.

“Sure is,” he says, fingers ghosting over Clint’s cheek. “Told you you’d look better down there.”

Clint just leans into his touch, eyes fixed on Bucky’s face. “Now what?” he asks.

Bucky makes a thoughtful noise. “Marc—remember what we talked about last week?”

Marc nods, his own tiny little smirk moving over his face. “I do.”

“How do you feel about doing that now?”

“You’re in charge,” Marc says. “That what you want?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “That’s exactly what I want. Been thinking about it for a week.”

Clint shifts a little, curious and turned on in equal measure. “What did you talk about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bucky says, grinning at him. He tugs Clint’s head back, exposing his throat. “Go into our room, sweetheart. Get a plug. The black one.”

“The big one,” Marc adds, and a little shiver of anticipation runs through Clint. They’ve only used it once before, and he remembers _very_ clearly the way it filled him up, how stretched and full he was—

“Go,” Bucky says, nudging him, and Clint slowly gets to his feet, going into the bedroom. He digs around in the chest at the foot of the bed, finally finding the requested plug. It sits heavy in his hand, and he holds it for a moment before grabbing some lube as well.

“Smart boy,” Marc says as he comes back out with both items.

“He is, isn’t he?” Bucky sips his drink and leans against the wall. “Go on, then.”

Clint glances at him, then goes to Marc. Marc takes the plug and the lube from his hand, then tugs him down into a kiss, half-filth and all tongue. “Come here,” he says, and pulls until Clint’s sprawled over his lap, sparks moving up his spine as his dick rubs over the bulge in Marc’s pants.

Marc arranges him a little more, then spreads him open and pops the lid on the lube. Clint hisses in a breath as it drips over his hole, the cool sensation a little jarring. Marc murmurs a quiet apology, his fingers squeezing Clint’s ass. Then they’re slipping into him with a slick sound, and Clint moans into the couch, squirming a little.

“Hold still,” Bucky says, and Clint turns his head to see him still leaning against the wall, watching intently with the whiskey glass in one hand. He nods a little, face rubbing against the fabric of the couch, and does his best to obey.

Two fingers turns into three, stretching him out, and Clint’s absolutely shaking with the effort of holding still by the time Marc’s easing the plug into him. It’s tapered at the top, so it starts easy, but then it starts to get wider, and Clint loses his battle to stay still.

“You can take it,” Marc says, putting a big hand on his shoulders to keep him pinned in place. “Just a little more.”

Clint blinks back tears and turns his head, looking for Bucky again. “Buck—”

“You can take it,” Bucky agrees, but he moves closer, setting his drink on the end table and kneeling beside Clint. “You’re doing real good, sweetheart. Just a little more.” He slides his hand up Clint’s arm, helping to hold him in place.

He feels impossibly stretched out, overfull, and he’s about two seconds from calling _yellow_ when the plug settles into him, the flared base nestling into place. He groans into the couch, forcing his fingers to relax from their white knuckled grip.

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs, brushing a kiss over his ear. “I knew you could do it.” He rubs a hand over Clint’s shivering body. “Get up when you’re ready.”

It takes him a minute to move, and Marc has to steady him, but Clint finally manages to get up to his feet. He rubs a hand over his face, then looks at Bucky. “I’m okay,” he says softly, shifting a little. He forgot just how damn big this plug is, and the sensation is both _amazing_ and almost too much. “I promise.”

“I trust you,” Bucky says, and he steps back again, picking up his drink. “Kneel for me. Right in front of Marc.”

Clint moves to the pillow that Marc lays down for him. He settles on his knees, hissing in a breath as the plug shifts inside him. Marc looks up, and at a nod from Bucky, he reaches for his belt, slowly undoing it.

“You comfy?” Bucky asks, moving to the other side of the couch. He sits on the arm of it, looking for all the world like a king surveying his land. “You’re gonna be there awhile, so if you’re not...”

Clint takes the hint and gets comfortable, moving to a position that he can maintain for a long time. The plug nudges against his prostate, and he moans quietly, eyelids fluttering.

“Easy,” Bucky says. “You good?”

“I’m good,” Clint says, glancing at him. “Green.”

Marc echoes him as he pulls his cock out of his pants. Clint wants to touch him—his hands twitch to do so—but he doesn’t, and there’s a little swell of pride in his chest as Bucky makes an approving noise.

“Good,” he says. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, sweetheart. You’re gonna take his cock in your mouth, and you’re gonna keep it there. You’re not blowing him, not doing anything else. You’re just there to keep his dick warm. Got it?”

“Oh,” Clint says, and that’s all he manages to say as a rush of arousal runs through him, settling in his gut and warming him. They’ve never done this before—he’s not sure why, honestly—but he’s _so_ ready for it.

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that,” Bucky says, and he gestures towards Marc. “Go on.”

Clint shuffles forward, bracing his hands on Marc’s thighs. The fabric of his jeans is rough under Clint’s palms, and he curls his fingers a little, reveling in the sensation of it. It’s like everything is dialed up to eleven now, he’s so aware of all the little points of contact between him and the rest of the world.

“Come here often?” he says to Marc, because he’s a dork, and Marc lets out a quiet laugh as he reaches forward, settling his hand on Clint’s head.

“Haven’t come at all, yet,” he says back, tugging Clint’s hair lightly.

“Mm.” Clint leans forward, dragging his tongue up Marc’s cock, watching with satisfaction as his breath hitches. “I’d change that, but apparently I have something else to do.”

“Best get to it,” Bucky says, “or it’s you who won’t be coming tonight.”

Clint would be a brat about it, but Bucky’s got that look in his eye, the one that says he means everything he says, and so he lets the remark die in his throat. Instead, he leans forward, takes Marc as deep as he can comfortably get, and then just...sits there.

It’s a strange position to be in. He’s used to getting things going, used to teasing Marc with his tongue, used to getting him worked up. He’s highly aware right now that he _can’t_ do that, because Bucky said he couldn’t, and he wants to be good for Bucky, for both of them—

“Jesus,” Marc mutters, and Clint flicks his gaze up to see his head tilted back, breath coming a little faster. “His fuckin’ mouth, I swear—”

“Mmhmm.” Clint can’t really see Bucky, but he can picture the way he’s leaning forward, can feel the intensity of his gaze.

Marc wrestles himself under control after a moment, and tugs Clint’s hair again. “Now what?”

“Thought we’d watch a movie,” Bucky says.

“That works.”

“Got a preference?”

“Not really.”

It’s like Clint suddenly doesn’t exist. They keep talking, doing the Netflix scroll, debating the merits of various movies and shows, and all the while they just...ignore him. Even when they pick something, they keep talking, making commentary and gesturing at the screen, and they don’t say a damn thing to him at all.

Well—not entirely. At some point Clint shifts a little bit, making a short noise as the plug shifts inside him. That gets him a sharp, “Quiet,” but nothing else. If not for Marc’s hand in his hair, and his cock inside Clint’s mouth, Clint would swear they’ve both forgotten about him.

He feels like it should be kind of dehumanizing, or at the very least embarrassing, but it’s really not. It’s just _hot_ , in a way that he never really expected. Bucky’s words are like a drumbeat in the back of his mind— _you’re just there to keep his dick warm—_ and with every breath he takes, he feels like that’s his only purpose right now. He’s just here to be good, to make Bucky happy, to make Marc happy. Which in turn makes _him_ happy. 

Time passes, syrupy and stretched out, and Clint lets it go, drifting along aimlessly with ebb and flow of it. He’s distantly aware that this is right on the edge of subspace—hell, it probably _is_ subspace—and he just enjoys the feeling, revels in the warm fuzziness that seems to wrap around him. Marc’s fingers rub against his scalp, and he makes another tiny little noise, eyelids fluttering. He’s half-hard himself, but there’s no urgency to it, no desire to do anything. He just wants to sit here forever, safe and content and happy.

Eventually, there’s a warm rumble above him, and then cool metal fingers ghost along his cheek. Clint opens his eyes—he hadn’t even known they were closed—and blinks slowly, looking at Bucky’s amused face.

“You with me?” Bucky asks, and Clint nods a little, feeling like he’s resurfacing from a deep pool. “Good boy.”

Clint has no idea how long it’s been. Marc’s fully hard in his mouth now, making tiny little motions with his hips. He blinks again, forces his heavy hand up and taps twice at Bucky’s leg. Bucky smiles a little, then looks at Marc. “How you doing?”

“Good,” Marc says, and it’s only because Clint knows him so damn well that he can read any hint of strain in his voice at all. “Real good.”

Bucky nods. “You’ve both been very patient. I appreciate that.” He sips his drink, which is full again—Clint must’ve been deep as hell, he doesn’t even remember Bucky getting up for that. “You can fuck his face now.”

It takes both of them a moment to process that, half from the bluntness, half because Clint wasn’t sure that order would ever come at all. Clint meets Marc’s eyes, nods at the silent question in them. Marc shifts into a better position, moves from petting Clint’s hair to grabbing it. “Good boy,” he says, voice husky and low, and then he’s doing exactly what Bucky told him to do, and _fuck_ it’s perfect.

Clint’s still not entirely back into himself as Marc starts fucking his face, still floating a little, lost in a haze of heat and arousal. Which is probably good—it’s not overly rough, but it’s not kind, either, and Clint can’t do much more than hold on and take it, fingers digging into Marc’s thighs. He keeps his mouth open, throat relaxed, looks up through his watering eyes.

“Can I?” Marc grits out.

“Ask nicely,” Bucky says, and Marc manages to add on a _please_ that sounds both desperate and slightly annoyed. It’s endearing. “Yes. You can come.”

“Fucking finally,” Marc mutters, and then he’s pushing into Clint’s throat, a long moan trailing out of him as he comes. Clint swallows around him, coughs a couple times as Marc follows it up with a few lazy thrusts, riding out his orgasm. “That’s it, Clint. That’s real fucking good.”

“Thank you,” Clint says when he can, and he’s not entirely sure why, but the words slip out and he’s not taking them back.

Marc looks faintly entertained, and he slips his thumb into Clint’s mouth, pushing a few stray drops in with it. “You’re welcome,” he says, pulling it out after a moment and tucking himself back into his pants.

Bucky sets his glass down and reaches over, brushing Clint’s hair back. “Good job, sweetheart. That was perfect.”

The praise warms him like always. “Thank you,” Clint whispers again, and it’s only then that he becomes aware of how hard he is, how his own cock is leaking, and how much he wants to be touched.

“You want to come too,” Bucky says, because he knows everything about Clint, knows all his signs and tells. “That right?” Clint nods, and Bucky makes a little _tsk_ noise. “Words, Clint.”

“I want to come,” Clint says. “Please, Buck, I _want_ it—”

“Shh,” Bucky murmurs, cutting him off before he can get too worked up about it. “I know. But you gotta put on a show first. Make it look good.” He gets a wicked little smirk on his face. “Do that, and _maybe_ I’ll let you come.”

Clint can put on a show. He’s been doing that his whole damn life. He’s always at his best in front of an audience, whether or not he’s wearing clothes. He nods frantically and reaches down, finally wrapping a hand around his own aching cock. His other hand goes behind him, and he grabs the edge of the plug, sliding it out a little before pushing it back in. The moan that escapes him is loud and vaguely embarrassing, but he’s still in that place where everything is just _hot_. He does it again, rocking back onto the plug, turning a little so they can both see what he’s doing.

“Jesus,” Marc mutters, staring at him.

“That’s nice,” Bucky agrees. “Keep going, pretty boy. You’re doing so good for me.”

Clint keeps going. The plug is big, and he’s so turned on and sensitive that it feels even bigger every time he pulls it out, feeling his hole stretch around it. Marc makes a sharp little noise, leaning forward. “Can I—” he starts.

“He doesn’t need your help,” Bucky says, reaching out to run an affectionate hand through Marc’s hair. “He’s doing just fine, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I’m good,” Clint gasps, rocking back onto the plug, voice shaking as much as he is. “I’m—I’m—I can do it.” He grinds it into himself, a soft little _ah-ah_ slipping out of him as sparks flash behind his eyes, molten pleasure curling through him. “I’m—I’m close—”

“Better fucking ask for it, then,” Bucky says, almost sweetly, but there’s an undercurrent in his tone that tells Clint he better not come without permission.

“Please,” he says. “Bucky—Bucky, _please_ , please let me come—”

“Again,” Bucky commands, and then he’s right there, tipping Clint’s head back, sliding a metal hand around his throat. “ _Again_.”

Clint lets out a choked sob, tears blurring his vision. “Please,” he says again. “Please, Bucky, I _need_ it—”

“No, you _want_ it,” Bucky says. “There’s a difference.”

Clint sobs again, shivering under his hand. “ _Bucky—_ ”

“Say you want it.”

“I want it,” Clint echoes, the words shaking and barely coherent. “I want it, I _want_ it, Bucky, please—”

“Come,” Bucky commands, and Clint gasps in a breath, the pleasure so sharp it almost borders on painful. He spills into his own hand, working himself through it as he slumps against Bucky, unable to keep kneeling upright.

Marc reaches down, strong arms wrapping around Clint. “C’mere,” he mutters, pulling him up onto the couch. Clint goes, pliant as anything, and lets Marc arrange him on his lap. “There you go. That was real good, Clint.”

Clint mumbles something and tucks himself into Marc’s chest. Bucky leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Clint’s temple, then gets up, returning with a glass of water and a cloth. “That was very good,” he says approvingly, cleaning Clint up with careful movements. 

“Thank you,” Clint says, taking the water. He takes slow sips until it’s gone, then passes the glass back to Bucky.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says, taking it from him. “You okay?”

“Tired,” Clint says. “But yeah. I’m good.” He smiles. “Really fuckin’ like your hair.”

“Me too,” Marc says. “Think he should keep it like that.”

Bucky grins. “If you’re gonna be like this, I’m _definitely_ keeping it like this.”

“Perfect,” Clint says, grinning back at him. “I love it. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Bucky says, patting his leg fondly. “Both of you.”

Marc makes a quiet noise, pulling Clint a little closer, his foot hooking around Bucky’s ankle. Clint smiles again, leaning into him, and lets his eyes drift shut.

**Author's Note:**

> beta'ed by vexbatch, thank you my dear <3


End file.
